You've Got a Friend in Me
by kricket
Summary: Max finds comfort in an unlikely friend. Stand Alone.


Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
A/N: This came to me in the middle of the night and I haven't been able to fully push it out of my head. Some ideas are relentless in that way. It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. I'm not sure if it's a stand alone yet or a short series, but we'll see.  
"You've Got a Friend in Me"  
The acid-rain flung itself against the buildings of Seattle. Relentlessly it raged day and night. If the downpour held its course, the residents of Freak Nation would have to build themselves an ark. Two X5's, two X6's,... a rare grin flitted across his face at the thought. He knew he wouldn't be among the chosen to float out of here.  
  
Quickly bored of watching the rain splatter against the window - supposedly the ordinaries did it for "relaxation" -, he turned back towards the T.V. where the "Nightly News at Nine" blared it's usual pessimistic drone. Reaching for the remote, he flicked off the blonde bombshell telecaster with entirely too much lipstick and not enough shirt. Gliding back to the window with as much grace as he could muster, he surveyed the perimeter diligently.  
  
Tonight she'd come.  
  
He could feel it.  
  
The harrying day-to-day agenda that came with running the freak sideshow affectionately dubbed "Terminal City" was really starting to wear on Max. Even the shark DNA couldn't hide the bags under her eyes. She needed a night off, so naturally she would come here.  
  
Two ears perked up as the light shuffle of feet pierced the silence by his door. Grabbing the towel he knew she'd need after trekking three blocks in the rain, he pulled the door open, just as Max was preparing to knock. Giving her a "once over" he quipped sarcastically, "Nice."  
  
She gave a tired laugh in return, gratefully ripping the towel from his calloused hands. "Stuff it."  
  
"Hmphf," he replied. "Is that the way you treat the guy nice enough to let you crash here?"  
  
"There have been a lot of words to describe you, my friend. I doubt one of them has ever, ever been 'nice'."  
  
"That really does hurt, if I had a heart. But since I don't..." he shrugged and strolled into his bedroom. If it could be called something that illustrious. It was a dimly lit hole in the wall, filled with the light, heady scent of Cuban cigars. Dirty rags more commonly known as clothes were flung with care across the stained carpet floor. The bed was a mealy mattress found abandoned in the sewers, then soaked in Febreeze. At least he had clean sheets. He turned down the crosspatch quilt with loving care, peeling back the new sheets in the process. Rising from his kneeling place next to the bed, he walked back into the kitchen where Max was towel drying her hair, dripping on the worn linoleum floor. He smiled.  
  
Max looked up through her tangled tresses. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. Just thinking."  
  
"About what?" she asked, patting down her upper body.  
  
"Who would be more jealous: Alec or Logan?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"A lovely, wet Max patting herself down in the kitchen. Probably a fantasy for either one of them. Hey, if I was remotely attracted to you I'd find it a turn on."  
  
"Logan I could see you saying that about. But why Alec? He could have any girl he wants, and I'm sure his fantasies are much more interesting than that," she quipped. Turning into his gaze, she saw he was no longer joking, but dead serious.  
  
"Max, have you ever heard the saying, 'the best fantasies are the domestic fantasies'?"  
  
Max's brow puckered in confusion. "Uh, no."  
  
His mouth smiled now, but the eyes remained somber. "Neither have I, but I think it would apply to Alec. Besides what if the girl he wanted was you?"  
  
"Doubtful."  
  
"Bull."  
  
Uncomfortable with the course of their conversation, Max yawned and turned towards his room. But this time, instead of going to bed alone, she grabbed his scaly hand. "Come on. I don't want to be alone tonight. Your back has been bugging you since you took that slug, and I have a strong feeling your bedside manner could use some improvement."  
  
"I doubt you'd make a good teacher, Max."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
They both reached the bed, and after a quick bickering fest about who got the right side of the bed, he conceded it to Max. She gratefully scrambled in, remarking on the new sheets. Laying on their backs in the dark, they silently watched the lightening flash in loud spurts, its angry glare bouncing of the walls. Their breathing began to even out, each slipping into sleep. He found his fierce grip on consciousness loosening, completely relaxed in her presence. Then he felt her tuck into his side. Two soft lips bussed his wrinkled cheek. She placed her head against in his chest.  
  
"Your a good friend," she murmured in the dark. He mumbled incoherently in response, not really comprehending much besides her warm aura.   
  
"Goodnight Max."  
  
"Goodnight Mole."  
I know. I know. Weird and awkward, but hey I slapped it together. Thanks for reading.   
  
Kricket. 


End file.
